One Week (HaleStorm) (11 page)

She rolled the words backwards and forward in her mind, wondering about the Burberry Lady’s sincerity. Whose story was true? Was this a desperate woman in love who simply wanted to cling to her husband? Or did she have more underhanded motives?

Either way, guilt gnawed at Elise’s brain, biting a trail down into her churning stomach. Without question, Michael’s problems with his marriage would exist whether or not Elise had let him into her bed the night before. He’d been clear that they were separated, that divorce proceedings were already well under way, or she never would have.
Never
.

Still, the encounter in the bathroom left doubt, and questions she didn’t know how to answer.

F
inally finished making calls, Michael found Elise manning her usual place in the small conference room on the developers’ level. An edge of nerves had crept into her work: her short fingernails clicked on the table and her other hand bounced a pencil eraser on top of a stack of papers. Under her chair, one pointy-heeled shoe slipped on and off her foot.

On and off. Over and over.

Both Michael and his breath stopped to admire the arch of that bare foot. It
was
for the best if they kept things professional. 

Was she ignoring him or had she simply not noticed him yet? Their looming deadline butted heads with a niggling concern that perhaps he should give her some space.

Dammit, they had a scant few business days to save a six-figure project. Not to mention, seeing her now made his blood run faster and hotter. Fuck space. “Everything okay?”

She nodded. “Sure.” She shifted in her chair, finally pushing her shoe all the way onto her foot. She pointed to her laptop screen. “Do you have time to answer some policy questions?”

He went to read over her shoulder, and then frowned. “I thought we had manuals for that stuff.”

“Out of date. That’s why I’m here, remember?”

“Shit.” He straightened. “How did my father keep this place in business?”

She looked up at him, appearing sympathetic. “If you aren’t careful, your clients are going to start asking the same thing.”

“They already have. That’s my problem.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

He checked the time on his phone and then pointed to the work in front of her. “As of a short while ago this isn’t our only fire. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I actually have to go.” Three-thirty. If he hurried, he could beat the worst parts of rush hour. “I can help as soon as I get back from this meeting.”

Elise reached up to put her hand on his, and his gut tightened. He wanted her to touch him more. How could he promise to stay professional when he knew what those smooth hands felt like on his skin? “Is Tom available?” She frowned at him like she knew his thoughts and wanted to punish him for them.

He could only hope.

“He’s handling a contract thing for me.” Michael headed for the door. He shook off the sudden urge turn around, grab Elise, and bend her backwards while he kissed the shit out of her. Beg her to stay and talk things out with him once this project ended. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Right.” She nodded slowly, then smiled and snapped her fingers. “Okay. I will institute Plan C. No worries, I have it covered. God luck with... whatever.”

He nodded and left, a vague sense of discomfort poking around his insides at Elise’s mention of “Plan C.” God only knew what she meant, and he didn’t have time to ask. He’d cross his fingers and find out when he returned.

He hoped.

He’d learned enough thus far to know that Elise was not, in fact, the green college intern he’d known all those years ago. She’d grown and changed. These past few days and nights of working together Elise had shown that she could hold her own in every way that mattered. Goddamn, could she ever.

Why did it seem so unbelievable that she’d turned into someone he could lean on?
Because maybe if you acknowledged it, then you’d allow yourself to be happy.

A taller, paler version of himself waited by the ornamental bushes as he exited the building.

“What are you doing here? I thought we said everything we needed to say to each other after you ambushed Tom last night,” he growled.

“You talked,” David replied. “I don’t recall that we reached any sort of accord.”

Michael passed his brother and kept walking toward the parking garage. “Of course not. You want to take control of the company our father left to me—not you—after turning your back on him while he lay dying. What did you expect?”

“This company is not your legacy, it is ours. All of ours. Mine and Joshua’s as well.” David’s low growl echoed ominously in the garage, empty of nothing but them and the cars.

Michael stopped with a loud scuff of loafer on concrete and spun to face his eldest sibling. “You wanted a stake in this company, you should have stuck around. I needed to replace senior staff when Dad passed. Thank fuck I had college buddies willing and able to come in. But frankly? I could’ve really used my brothers before then. Except you and Joshua weren’t the ones who held his hand when he couldn’t see or talk anymore. You weren’t the one who watched him die. So you’ll excuse me if I wasn’t in the sharing mood. Nor am I now.” He thrust his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t do something he’d regret, and turned to walk away with his fury banging against his ribs.

Footsteps echoed behind Michael. Oh, Good. David had more to say. Fucking great. “You stayed loyal to our father because your mommy kicked you to the curb! You didn’t earn your place at the head of this company. You were just the last fucking man standing.”

Michael stopped, facing his car. He closed his eyes against the words, but they bounced off the surrounding slabs of concrete and wormed their way into his ears, into his brain, the thing he’d thought to himself a thousand times. He breathed slowly and deeply, trying to loosen the lock they placed on his heart.

In spite of his self-doubt, he refused to give David any satisfaction. His fist tightened around his keys until they dug into his flesh. He focused on the pain until his pulse and breathing slowed. “Goodbye, David,” he said.

Slowly and with purposeful intention, he opened his car door, settled in, and drove away.

He didn’t give his brother as much as a backward glance.

***

M
ichael had managed to get a meeting with Microstrive’s VP and sales manager, Anya Evans. As he sat with a cup of coffee in Anya’s leather and chrome office, he remembered the poster of the model Christie Brinkley he’d had on his wall all through college. If one were to have taken that blonde supermodel out of her bikini and put her in a tailored suit, he’d have a surprising facsimile of Anya, down to the shiny blonde hair and dimpled smile.

She breezed in with apparent ease on very high heels, closing the door behind her. “Mr. Hale, it’s a pleasure. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” She didn’t look all that sorry. Her grin matched Michael’s memory of that poster. Perhaps she grinned all the time. Like a dolphin.

He leaned back in her leather sofa and crossed one leg over the other, going for the appearance of “I don’t give a shit” casual even though they both knew the purpose of his visit. “No sweat. Gave me time to enjoy this amazing cup of coffee.”

“I’m glad you like. It’s Blue Mountain.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Ka-ching.”

“Only the best here at Microstrive, Mr. Hale.” Her smile showed a perfectly straight set of white teeth.

He opted not to respond to her implied dig. “Generous of you to meet with me on the evening before a holiday break.”

“Opportunity doesn’t use a calendar.” she gave Michael an indulgent grin. “And I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to meet with my most formidable competitor.”

Michael made every effort to school his features. “Formidable. I’m honored. Thank you.” Such bullshit.

“So.” Anya’s office held a desk with bookshelves on one end, and a small sitting area on the other with a sofa, two stuffed chairs, and a small table that could seat about six people. Instead of settling across from Michael in one of the chairs, she chose to perch on the edge of the table, crossing one long leg over the other. Her skirt stopped above the knee, and her snazzy shoes wound up dangling right in front of his face. “What can I do for you?”

Michael dragged his gaze from Anya’s shoe, up her body and back to her face. Not his type, but gorgeous.

Her calculating gaze stayed on him, and Michael had the distinct impression that at any moment this could change from a polite cage match to two tigers battling over territory. But Michael had been the one to encroach, so he would do his best to tread respectfully. “It’s my understanding that you put a bid on one of my CRI projects.”

“Isn’t competitive bidding all part of the process?”

“Not once the project has been awarded and work has begun.”

Anya gave a warm, pleasant smile, but Michael nearly expected canary feathers to pop out of her mouth. “I’m sure there must have been some communication error.”

Michael set his cup of coffee down on the small table beside the sofa. “I might have thought so myself, but my contracts guy did some checking. You pitched that deal yourself, Ms. Evans.” He gave her an appreciative up and down, not because he wanted to flirt with her—she sure as hell wasn’t as pretty as Elise—but because he knew she expected him to. A woman as beautiful as Anya Evans, as powerful, was used to getting what she wanted. No question, she was also used to attention. Michael wasn’t a drooler, but he’d been around the block enough times to know a little ego stroking always helped.

She tipped her head to the side. “Hmm. Oh. Wait. The CRI project.” She nodded. “I do remember.”

Funny how that happened. “You do.”

She stroked her hand down her golden hair, pulled into a low ponytail, and flipped it over her shoulder. “I assure you it wasn’t our intention to poach. You know how pitch meetings can get so long and tedious. I made small talk.”

“Of course.” Michael folded his hands in his lap.
I’ll bet you did
.

“I asked how the project was going. Their rep expressed concerns.” She shrugged casually and leaned forward. “There are stirrings in the industry about your company’s solvency in the wake of your father’s death. A lot of concerns have been expressed about you, Mr. Hale.”

“I see,” Michael managed through a clenched jaw.

She shrugged. “Maybe they asked if we could roll that project into our existing sales package, maybe something I said implied the possibility. The details are fuzzy.”

Michael doubted her fuzziness very much.

Anya leaned back, easing off the table. “I assure you, nobody was coerced, tricked, or strong-armed. I offered them a better price, which they chose to accept.”

Michael stood. “Oh, I don’t believe that for a second.”

“You’re entitled to believe anything you want,” she said lightly.

He smiled. “Of course.” He held out a hand. “Well, I applaud your success.”

“Thank you.” She shook back with a surprisingly firm grasp.

“One thing, though.” Michael squeezed her fingers the slightest bit harder to be sure he had her attention. “Our contract requires thirty days written notice to terminate, which was not provided. In addition, I spoke with CRI’s contract rep on the drive over here and made him aware of the escalating maintenance fees hidden in yours.” Anya’s brow furrowed, and Michael smiled wider. “Yeah. See, based on our long-standing relationship, I got them to let my team take a look at the deal. You may have been offering a cheaper price on the installation, but only so you could take them to the cleaners on ongoing support.”

She lifted her chin. “Clients are notorious for ongoing project scope-creep. It’s only wise to hedge against these things.”

“Which is why HaleStorm factored that into our initial bid, and put firm boundaries on the terms. We never tried to pull the wool over anybody’s eyes.” He squeezed her hand again and let go. “It was a nice try, Ms. Evans, but don’t fuck with me or my company again.

“And thanks for the coffee.” He put his hands in his pockets and walked out the door.

E
lise had a particular hate for her wireless mouse. The little doohickey she had to plug into her laptop to make it work got lost all the time, falling down inside her bag and landing in God only knew where. The airport’s baggage claim? The place where she’d lost all her left socks? Narnia?

She muttered and swore and dug around in her laptop bag.  It wasn’t like she used the little bugger, but it belonged to her company so she got nervous when she couldn’t find the elusive little bastard.

“Now
that
is an interesting sight.”

She stood in a hurry, clunking her head on the conference room table. She hoped Michael didn’t notice, but she turned in time to see him wince.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

She rubbed her hand over her throbbing head, dizzy from her abrupt spin. “You come in here making that kind of statement and you don’t expect me to be distracted?”

He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. He’d removed his jacket and his navy tie lay askew around his neck. God help her, he looked delicious. Like it or not, he made her heart race. “Well I sure as hell was distracted,” he said. “It’s only fair.”

She gave him the sternest look she could manage. “Maybe you’re tired. Try a cup of coffee.”

Oh Lord. The dark look that came over his face nearly destroyed her all on its own.

He stepped forward and pulled the door shut, all sorts of wicked, carnal thoughts played out across his face. She could see it in the way his pupils went wide, the way his tongue swept across his lips. Her heart sped up and her mouth went dry as all the things she’d promised herself about staying away from him evaporated from her brain.

He shook his head. “Had some at a meeting a short while ago. I’m all good.”

He sure as hell is. Oh my God, stop it!
If Elise had an actual angel and devil on her shoulder by now they’d be whacking each other with stacks of spreadsheets and her lost computer parts.